


The Better Things to Come

by VampyrePrince



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampyrePrince/pseuds/VampyrePrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John find themselves on a deserted railway beneath a beautiful tunnel of vines (an overgrown tunnel), following the trail of new case. John's feelings for his friend resurface every time their eyes meet, and it had finally gotten to the point where the tension became all too obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Things to Come

**Author's Note:**

> Just some fluff (my definition of fluff). I wrote this back when I first saw Sherlock, so it's dear to me in the sense that it was my first fan fiction for the series. Have fun!

It was getting dark, but the sky cast a warm glow on an overflowing brush of an endless tunnel of trees. They were glowing with an orange tint here and there, a warm screen of burnt sienna cast from the sun onto the bright green leaves. The air was warm on this spring evening, a strange air that was thick with moisture, foretelling of a storm to come. The only sounds that could be discerned were the footsteps of two men, one tall and one a bit short. The tall man carried himself along with quick steps of excitement, the shorter of the two walking quickly to keep up with his companion. 

The taller man stopped abruptly and knelt down at the edge of a long line of overgrown train tracks, his adornments stretching tightly across his thin body. He wore a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his slacks were a deep black and they rested just slightly above his ankle as he leaned over, his socks black and his shoes equally as dark, shining flawlessly in the warm glow. He ran his long bony fingers through his brown hair, which bounced back into its curly state. Deep concentration made his green eyes seem hard and angry; He was never one to be outwitted. He possessed a certain skill of genius that could solve any crime. Any puzzle. Any case... any case but this one. He let out a growl of frustration and stood abruptly, startling his companion.

The shorter man jumped back and stared at the anger in his friend's eyes. He was the only one the other man had ever trusted, had ever ventured to call a 'friend'. John Watson was an ex-soldier, a doctor once in the military. Although the man was short he had nerves of steel. At least, he had to when it came to working with Sherlock. Tonight he had chosen a button-up brown tee and a pair of faded jeans.

“Sherlock?”

“Not now, John!”

Sherlock raised his hands before him, his eyes tightly shut.

“I need to go to my thinking palace. Don't utter a word. Don't even THINK.”

The doctor stood back in amusement, watching his friend work. He had grown used to this arrogance, this rude speech from his closest friend. He crossed his arms and waited, watching those thin bony hands work about. They waved from side to side, up and down again, flicking invisible objects to the side. It was almost like watching a graceful dance. He loved watching Sherlock work.

John Watson was by no means a gay man. He had attempted to date many women over the course of the past year, all of which who eventually left him. He hadn't the time for women anymore anyway, not while he was friends with a man like Sherlock. It was as if they were a couple and had been for some time, although the thought only provoked ridiculous laughter from John's brain. Sherlock stopped waving about at last, his excited gaze fixating upon John.

And there were moments like these.

Moments where John couldn't stop staring back at his friend's face full of joy. Moments where he felt the joy as well, and it made his heart fill with warmth.

“I've got it! My god, how could I have missed it?!”

John's voice caught in his throat as Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders. That wonderful smile so full of childlike curiosity, those ever observant green eyes sparkling at him. He always became excited like this when he reached a conclusion. The doctor waited for his friend to rush off, but blushed slightly when their eyes didn't part. It was becoming uncomfortable. Sherlock's smile faded from his lips rather quickly, his eyes searching John's soul for something. Had he seen something he shouldn't have?

“You're rather uneasy about something, John. Perhaps something you're withholding from me?”

“No... I'm not-”

“But you are. Your eyes speak volumes as your pupils are dilated slightly. Your heart rate's elevated, I can see it beating against your chest; this is usually the first sign of being caught in the act. You must be nervous about something, something important because you wouldn't be so nervous otherwise-"

“Oh, just stop it already!”

John pushed Sherlock away and crossed his arms awkwardly. He had felt like a lie detector test had been forced upon him against his will; his friend seemed to do that quite often.

“John, if you have any information about this case you'd better tell me, I'm certain you know something that you're not telling me.”

“Well, you're wrong this time. It has nothing to do with the case. You wouldn't understand even if I told you.”

John turned to walk back down the long railway, only to be pulled back around to face his friend. He was growing ever more irritated at the whole thing. He had been doing his best to block out these feelings, to deny them with all of his power. Things were getting dangerous and he knew Sherlock would figure it out soon.

“John...”

The doctor glared at his friend, complete and utter frustration burning behind his eyes.

“People don't always have to be up to something, Sherlock.”

“But clearly you are.”

“Then read me. Tell me what I'm up to.”

“You're obviously flustered about something. Judging by your current turn of attitude this happened rather recently, you were quite fine when we stumbled upon this track. You didn't start acting strange until only a few moments ago, when there was a slight change in your stance. You were staring rather blankly into the distance as if you were contemplating something, or almost dreaming, rather. Have you been sleeping well?”

“Alright, maybe I am hiding something from you.”

Sherlock's smile returned.

“I knew it. You do realize it's hopeless to hide things from me, John. By the way you've been acting lately one would suspect you've gotten another girlfriend.”

"What? Girl-? No! No, Sherlock, I haven't a-"

"Regardless, I can't have you slipping off like that. I need someone to bounce my theories off of."

"Sherlock I haven't a girlfriend! I haven't had the time to see anybody because I'm always with you."

"Is this a problem?"

"Not exactly. I mean, it's hard to get a girl anyway because everybody thinks we're together. It's funny, really. We do seem that way, don't we?"

John laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. Sherlock's smile faded. Had figured it out? It had taken him long enough, but nothing could get past him, not even something like this. An emotion that Sherlock purposefully blotted out. The detective backed away slightly, cleared his throat and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again. He rested them at his sides uncomfortably, picking at his thumbnails.

“We should... we should get going. Nothing more to be found here.”

John watched as Sherlock strode past him, hands in his trouser pockets. The two walked silently for quite some time, both keeping a significant distance. John found himself wishing that they hadn't walked so far back into the tunnel. Sherlock knew his secret now. But he should have expected nothing less than the reaction he had witnessed. Sherlock wasn't capable of loving someone, let alone being a proper friend.

The sun was nearly out of the sky by now, the orange hue disappearing into a dark blue. The air became cool rather quickly, and John was beginning to feel goosebumps on his skin. He looked ahead and saw that Sherlock had stopped in front of an abandoned train car. They were almost out now, yet Sherlock refused to budge.

“Sherlock? Everything alright?”

No response. John walked up to his friend and set a hand on his shoulder.

“Sherlock, are you okay?”

The detective turned around and grabbed John's hand, observing it carefully. The newly risen moon shone silver rays onto them both through the brush, casting a soft glow over Sherlock's sharp features. His green eyes looked into John's for a moment before diverting. He was fighting with something.

“Sh-sherlock?”

“John...”

Their gaze met once more, Sherlock inching closer to his friend now, their foreheads touching lightly.

“W-what are you doing?”

“How long has it been, John?”

“How long? Oh, that... For some time now, I think. I don't know, I wasn't paying attention.”

“Don't toss it aside so easily. You're lying.”

“Nothing gets past you.”

“No.”

John could feel his friend's hot breath on his mouth, the two were now close enough to brush lips. Sherlock's voice had turned quiet, very deep and almost inaudible.

“You can't get anything past me. I think I've known for some time.”

Sensing what was fated to happen already John leaned forward, capturing Sherlock's lips with his own. It was soft and slow at first, unsure and sure at the same time. Then the slow and graceful motions turned feverish, breaths becoming hot and labored, hands venturing to explore over clothing. Their tongues met between parting lips, turning everything up to a higher degree. Their bodies became closer as they melted together in their passion, John reaching for Sherlock's shirt to tear the buttons open.

Almost instantly it stopped.

Sherlock stepped back quickly and ran a hand through his hair, his shirt half unbuttoned. John looked at him, frozen on the spot. After a few moments of silence the two burst out laughing, Sherlock standing with one hand on his hip. John reached up and wiped his nose in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that.”

“Sorry about what, John?”

The doctor gazed upon his companion's partially bare chest in the moonlight. He was a gorgeous figure to behold; he wanted to see more. Sherlock lifted his free hand and pointed a thumb behind him towards the entrance.

“Shall we head back to the flat?”

“Oh god, yes.”

The two took off at a jog, leaving the beautiful tunnel and the silver rays of moonlight behind.


End file.
